


Getting Lost Inside My Head

by Ivyzord



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Horror, Introspection, Mid-Canon, POV Third Person, Thinking About Death, matters of faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyzord/pseuds/Ivyzord
Summary: A scene of Dismas ruminating during camping after finding his own severed head, where he expected riches.
Relationships: Dismas & Reynauld (Darkest Dungeon)
Kudos: 19





	Getting Lost Inside My Head

Dismas stares into the darkness dead-eyed not sure he should be more scared to spot movement in that in the endless blackness, or to be claimed into it by some nameless creature suddenly, with no chance to taste the last of his breaths. It’s disconcerting, as ever, thoroughly terrifying, but it’s not like he can sleep. His restless mind paints a scenery more unsettling than the shapes that start dancing in the in the dark of this cursed corridors. 

Every time he closes his eyes he can see what they recovered from the hidden room, where they expected gems and riches. This place likes to play tricks on them. It’s challenging to describe the feeling of looking at your own dismembered lifeless head, staring dumbly at somewhere beyond you, somewhere inside you. He tried to shake off the image, before it ever truly settled. He tried to tell himself, that it was someone, that looked similar to him, maybe his mind playing tricks, but he knew it was a part of him, as he dropped it with an unsettling fleshy sound to the rough stone.  
  
How did it even get there? Does it even mean anything? A premonition, a cruel trick, an affirmation, of what he think he deserves? Even though the death would be a release by now, he is still clinging to this ruin. It’s hard to overcome the ingrained human instinct, that heave led him all of his life, keeping him in it’s clutches. Everyday more torturous then the last, leaving a toll on his body and on his mind.

He hears Reynauld stirs on his beading, he glances at him, before returning his sight to the darkness. At least the crusader has a comfort of meaning in this quest. The believe, that there is a place beyond this world. A real respite, perhaps? A vain and hollow hope, but he won't judge enone for clinging to it in this wretched place. Loosing the last ounce of his life, Reynauld would know where he is going. At lest that what he could be telling himself, and even if he didn’t fully believe, it was a lie, he could reassure himself with. There was some comfort in that. 

Dismas have no god to server as his armor, nor to burden him with imaginary sins. His misdeeds keep him awake well enough on their own. He's afraid there is no higher power to forgive him, if he can’t do that himself. He wouldn’t truly want to. Even if he is damned to hell, how much worse it can be then this place.

Reynauld might be a man of faith, but is just as hardened as he is. Dismas silently judged his deeds, but the full truth came to him it in one of those rare moments when the crusader has removed his armor. He met the empty eyes he sees in his own reflection. Not all that different then the lifeless stare the severed head gave him. The hypocrisy of this supposed holly men would make Dismas despise him in his past life. Yet, no anger stirs within him, when Reynauld approaches him, just a small relief of not facing the darkness alone. The little differences among people, deemed so important outside, seem to fade in the confrontations with ghoulish horrors and creatures beyond imagination wearing faces of the dead. A cold armor glove is comforting on his shoulder. 

En echoing, hollow voice greets him. “You've been on this vigil long enough, I’ll take watch.”

“No need.” he rasps in return. “I’m not sleeping anyway.”

Reynauld needs no further explanation, he points his sights to where the head sits in a sack among valuables. When the expedition decided on taking it back to the Hamlet Dismas wanted to protest at first, but leaving it seems just as cruel. No decision would bring him comfort. It being further away wouldn’t erase the sight from his mind, nor the knowledge that something that might have been part of him was left rotting in those dreadful corridors.

“You’re not much of a guard in your current state.” Reynauld’s voice calls him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Let me, at least, accompany you.”

“Suit yourself.” he answers and the fall back into silence together. 

They weren’t friend, not truly, but they where not enemies nor strangers. They where companions, lost souls that shared a pitiful existence, and there was some comfort in that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am getting lost inside my head.  
> A well full of doubts and of regret.  
> I fear that I cannot get ahead  
> Pictures of the sins, I can’t forget.  
> The way she screamed, how much he bled.  
> I am getting lost inside my head.


End file.
